


Good Night

by Androids_in_Metropolis



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Cute, Emotional, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Murphy has ptsd, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sickfic, back story, character break down, clarphamy - Freeform, slight AU, three way ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4533090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Androids_in_Metropolis/pseuds/Androids_in_Metropolis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy brought them together, and together they are unbreakable. </p><p>-A rather long one shot inspired by redoaktree and her wonderful works! This is my first The 100 fic, so please, go with me here. I haven't finished season two yet, but this is how I see it:) -</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red0aktree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red0aktree/gifts).



Murphy never thought he was worth it. He never thought he was worth the breath that had been forced back into his body so many times by people who said they cared only to leave again. He didn’t want to be worth it. He wanted to hate those people for bringing him back and making him face the delicate dance between trip wires that his life had turned into; Take the wrong step and you’re dead, and even if you’re not, you know sometime you’ll miss a step and...boom. Gone. All the oxygen he had wasted by breathing would have been for nothing but to help rot his corpse. 

He was always dark like that. He never tried to see the bright side any more...it was just too far away from where he stood. He didn’t know that simply changing the angle of his gaze could help shift the view to the sunny side of the mountain. 

From the outside he looked cold, heartless...maybe calculating. A little scary, a little crazy. Maybe all those things were true, but it wasn’t all. He was cold because he cut himself on so he wouldn’t get attached to someone who would just leave him in the end. He was heartless so all the losses he suffered wouldn’t hurt him and so him up when he needed to run to keep up with the game. He was calculating so he could keep his head above the flood waters because God knows that no one was gonna keep him afloat but himself. He was scary to keep people from trying to find out about him, and crazy because he was alone. 

Human interaction was something that scared him so the blood would rush from his face and down to his feet. It was also the one thing that could keep him sane...he would end up killing people and himself in the end. It was no secret he had killed his dad by being weak. He was too weak to keep himself up back then and had leaned too hard on someone who was just as weak...his dad had been floated for that sin above all others; Caring too much. 

Murphy wouldn’t make the same mistakes twice-He didn’t need anybodies help, or pity. he didn’t need to love or be loved. Caring was for the weak and the weak die first. He didn’t want to die. If he died he would have to face his father who had died for him...his mother who had died for his father…

\--------------------------

Clarke knew she was good. She didn’t think she was better than anyone else, or at least, tried not to think that sh was. She just knew she was good at what she did. She was the best medical personnel on earth for all the 100 knew. She was good at leading and calming people down. She knew how to talk people down from bad places, a skill much needed as it became more and more clear that living on the ground wasn’t going to be easy for the 100...or what they had left of them, any way. 

She also knew she had weaknesses; She cared too much too easily. She wanted to help everyone, even though it was virtually impossible that she would be able to do so. She wanted to protect and comfort...She didn’t like not being in control, and she didn’t like being left out. 

The biggest difference between she and Murphy’s coldness was that she knew when to start to let her guard down, and Murphy didn’t. 

Her mother had taught her that, along with nearly everything else she knew. Of course, some of it she had to teach herself after being arrested and put in solitary for the crime of knowledge and some of it she had learned on the ground. The ground lessons were the hardest. They had hurt most. 

She had learned when to give up hope when she had killed the boy who had been caught in the acid fog. She had learned to be ruthless when she fought grounders, and she had learned to care more openly while keeping her calm when she had healed Jasper’s wounds. She had learned to mourn the day her father was floated, and she learned to let go the day that she landed on the ground. 

She learned nothing was fair, and that sometimes you couldn’t win, but you still had to push forward. That was the biggest lesson she had ever learned and it was the one she needed most. 

The second most important lesson she had learned on earth was that it didn’t pay to hold grudges, and that sometimes that truth wasn’t as easy to understand as it may have seemed at first glance. Wells had taught her that lesson. It had been painful, and it still stung, but at least it stuck. 

The last lesson she needed was to learn when to let people in, and not just care for them from the outside.

\---------------

Bellamy was a guardian. He always had been. It was a role that had been forced on him the moment that Octavia had been born. He hated it, and at the same time it was the thing that got him up in the morning and kept him going until he drifted again into the sweet oblivion that sleep provided. He was a natural leader. He had to be. 

On Earth he led his people; The people just like him. Criminals, outcasts, working people all created equal the moment they landed on the ground. He didn’t flatter himself that he was better than anybody else, and he didn’t put himself down by thinking he was less than any one either. 

He tried not to think about himself at all. 

Instead he filled his head with his sister, and all the new sisters and brothers he had adopted when he had climbed onto that pod heading for the ground. He was the oldest. He was the most accustomed to fighting, leading, training, and having to stand long after your knees have given way. 

Aboard the Arc he had learned that breath was a precious commodity, and that there was no point in wasting it on sentimentalities. In the end the only thing that changes the course of events was action. He didn’t waste his breath when they landed either, preferring to fill his mouth with hard words that fell from his lips like boulders and rock slides; Barked orders and encouragement. 

He had always cared. He chose to block the caring with righteousness a long time ago, the minute his sister was born and then again when she was taken away from him. He still cared and it hurt. It tore him up from the inside every time he had to make a decision that was for the downfall on one for the greater good. He hated it, but then again, if he didn’t do it, no one else would, or so he told himself. Anything to keep your body moving forward and your brain out of the mud. Anything to make the hard things a little easier to bear. An opioid for the wound that never stopped hurting, though it never bled but once. 

Bellamy was scared when they arrived on earth. He was still scared after having seen what grounders and the 100 alike could do to each other with little encouragement. He was scared of the cruelty that showed in some of the 100’s faces, and the eagerness to cause pain to others to stop their own. He blocked the fear with a damb of harsh words and blows. Anything to keep moving forward. Anything to make the pain keep below the surface...never showing. 

On Earth he had learned to keep other’s pain, take it for his own so that they could stand. He had learned to turn fear to anger and anger to outside uses. He had built a village for his people with fear and anger, with threats only half empty. 

He had learned to keep caring as a second and last resort. 

\-----------------------------

“Clarke!” Bellamy barked, the sound of rain drowning out his voice so that it seemed little louder than a whisper flung in the breeze. “Clarke! We need you in medical. It’s Murphy,” he explained, grabbing the blonde b her elbow and dragging her through the storm to the drop ship which had been turned into the H.Q and nurses office. 

“What’s the matter with him?” Clarke asked, her face unfazed as she yanked her arm away from Bellany’s strong grasp. She could walk herself, thank you very much...She didn’t much care for Murphy in particular. He had been cruel in the past, and hadn’t won any friends since landing, and though Clarke prefered to keep the whole camp healthy there were priorities that would likely fall before Murphy’s splitters and grazes. Of course, she would do her best though, if only for Bellany whom she respected, and if he thought Murphy needed her she would do as he told her. 

“He just started vomiting,” Bellamy said, his jaw tense weather with annoyance or concern Clarke couldn’t tell. “I was having him repair the fence down on the east edge, and when I went down to check in on him he was sick as a dog.”

As if to prove his point the acidic scent of sick hit their noses as they entered the drop ship and climbed the ladder towards the second floor where the sick and injured were kept. Murphy was the only one in the small upper room at the moment, and he did indeed look very ill, a cold sweat moistening his burning skin. His arms were wrapped around himself and his head was between his knees, his big eyes shut for once. His smirk was gone, replaced with an expression of concentration and pain. 

Clarke quickly dropped down next to the boy, resting her hand on his back and moving his face up to look at hers. He was shivering, and his eyes were glazed over in fever as he tried to lock her pale face in his gaze. He looked like nothing she had ever seen before...this was a simple ailment. It was something like the flu or a bug or something, but that was an illness she recognized only from books. It didn’t happen on the Arc. Any flu like symptoms on the Arc were quickly treated by advanced sciences which she just didn’t have access to on the Ground. 

“Has he eaten anything strange?” she asked, looking up at Bellamy, hoping to rule out food poisoning, which based on her experiences on the Arc was a worse thing than the flu. Despite her feelings towards Murphy’s behavior in the past she found her arm still around his shoulders, holding him to her as he shivered. His face looked so much more open than usual...he looked so much younger than he tried to look normally. He was only a kid, maybe younger than Clarke herself. 

“No, I don’t think so...I mean, he didn’t look too great when I sent him down there. That’s why I sent him someplace further away, so he could get some rest,” Bellamy explained, looking a little more stressed than usual. A little more frayed. A little more...broken, tired, young, scared. 

It was obvious that Bellamy had grown fonder of Murphy as time passed. It was clear that the murders were being forgiven, and his own tresspasses waighed heavily on his stooping shoulders. Clarke admitted that she herself was growing more and more attached to the crazed kid. It was clear that he wasn’t and hadn’t been in a good mental state. It was clear that the torture which they had dismissed earlier as a dramatization was very, very real and still haunted Murphy. It was clear that he didn’t deserve a lot of what he got, and even though he had killed their friends, it was clear that he was tearing himself out over it. 

While neither Clarke or Bellamy were saying he got a get out of jail free card for what he had done, they did forgive him, or at least, were trying to. It would be so, but it could happen. Clarke dismissed the mental argument she was having with herself over taking care of Murphy just like everyone else, turning her full attention to the shivering kid. 

“Can you describe how you feel?” she asked, brushing his hair out of his eyes, letting her finger linger on the scar on his forehead. She had never asked what had happened to him when he was with the grounders. She had never bothered to try and heal those wounds, or find out about the ones in his head. She had never tried to figure out what might have been going through his head when he had killed Miles or tried to kill Bellamy or the other boy whose name had faded from her memory with time. 

“I dunno...I feel sick, all over, I mean, I hurt,” he mumbled, no punctuation between what might have been sentences or simply words strung together. “My head hurts...my stomach hurts, my eyes hurt,” he mumbled, his eyes feeling closed again as Clarke angled his cheeks towards the light to try and determine the hue of the flush that was taking them over. He sounded subdued somehow, not the same angry kid that had threatened her best friend. Not the same psycho who had tried to kill everyone and prove his worth at the same time.

“Okay, tell me, are you cold?” she asked, pressing her hand under his collar and trying to figure out the exact number for his fever. It was high, maybe 40 degrees or slightly less. Her tone had already taken on the cool, mother like tone of someone who was talking to an unpredictable or very ill child. It was calming though it was clear that Murphy was uncomfortable with the sudden affection as he pulled away slightly, his glassy eyes again trying to focus on her. 

“Yes,” he answered, his answer short as if he was trying very hard to sound like someone who wasn’t a shivering mess on the edge of delirium. “I am fine, really,” he mumbled, turning his gaze upwards toward Bellamy who had stayed in the corner, biting his lips and looking concerned. He was growing fond of Murphy in a way that he hadn’t really thought about before. He wanted him to be okay...he needed him to be okay, the same way he needed Clarke to stay safe and be okay. He had grown to love both of them, and depend on them more than he should over the course of running the camp of delinquents. 

“No,” he said sternly. “You’re not okay, and I would like it very much if you would give all your attention to Clarke, who is, after all, trying to help you.” His reply sounded cold and even angry, but that was mostly because he was concerned and he hated to show his concern out right. He had learned to turn concern into anger and apathy long ago, even more so on the ground. Concern got you riots and riot got people killed. 

Clarke looked between the two, seeing that they depended on each other like she had learned to trust and depend on Bellamy. She could see them being close...it would make sense. It would explain why their fights were so explosive and then just ended. Why they always forgave each other...she hoped she could learn to do the same, for both of them. 

“I agree,” Clarke said quietly, pushing Murphy back down onto the thin, makeshift mattress, wrapping an arm around him even as he began to gag. She grabbed at the empty supplies bin beside her, pushing it against his chest just as he began to vomit thin, clear flemm. He hadn’t eaten all day, Clarke realized as she tried to remember if she had seen him at the breakfast line. She didn’t think she had. 

Bellamy was down beside the two of them in a second, rubbing circles on Murphy’s arched back, whispering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay,’ and Clarke had to fight back a smile as she saw Bellamy acting so kind towards someone. 

She got up, straightened out and brushed her hands on the sides of her worn pants. She had to go find some food for Murphy, get some fresh water, find a way to get his fever down and maybe try and talk to Bellamy too...they were something along the lines of an item-very blurred lines here on the ground-and Murphy and he also seemed to be something like an item and she found herself wondering where she fit, against her better judgment. She was fine with it the way it was, or maybe, if they were all...together, but not knowing left her feeling something like jealousy and she hated it. It wasn’t who she was. She would push it out and find out, but first came Murphy’s health. 

“I’m going to go find some medicine, and food,” she told Bellamy, letting her hand linger on his shoulder. She felt him reach a hand up to cup her own and she squeezed it reassuringly; She would make sure Murphy go better if Bellamy cared this much. She loved him, and if he loved Murphy, she could live with that she realized. She hoped he had another answer though…

\-------------------------------------

Murphy slept after Clarke had forced food into him. Bellamy sat on his left, and Clarke on his right, each looking at the other over his prone body. 

“Bellamy...do you love me?” Clarke asked, feeling infinitely stupid. This was a schoolgirl thing to do. She should just move on, but for some reason she needed to know. She needed to know if they were as together as she thought they were. 

“Yes, I think so,” Bellamy replied, looking at Clarke carefully. He was about to suggest something that was abnormal on the Arc. It wasn’t unheard of, and some people even encouraged it since it would make children fewer in the future if the families were bigger but still only had one child. Of course, that wasn’t a problem on the ground, but still…

“You think so?” Clarke asked, raising one of her blonde eyebrows and running a hand through her hair, flicking her eyes back down towards Murphy as he stirred. His fever had gone down significantly, and she wondered if he remembered the things he had babled during the worst of it. How he had begged for her to ‘take the medicine back,’ when she had tried to feed him water. How he had said the food was poisoned and he wouldn’t tell them anything. How he had said that it was his fault his parents were dead. He had begged for forgiveness...Clarke and Bellamy had readily given it to him, though it wasn’t theirs to give. 

“I mean, Clarke, I like Murphy too and I just can’t choose one over the other and I want to be with both of you and this is frucking painful and I’m not making any sense and I am so sorry, Clarke. I should have told you earlier that I liked him, and I think he likes me, and I hope you like me because I love you…” For once Bellamy was at a loss for words and was babbling at the same time, letting more of himself show than he had meant to at first, but then again, if he couldn’t show himself in front of these people which he cared so much for, and hoped cared for him, he really couldn’t show himself in front of anyone. “I want to wait until he’s awake, and I want to ask both of you, if we can be a thing...all three of us,” Bellamy mumbled, blushing a little. 

It was all very out of character, Clarke thought, but it was still an idea. It was an idea she could live with. She thought if she could get past the things Murphy did, she could love him too. Loving wasn’t easy, but sometimes if you had the right people there would be enough to go around. She hoped Murphy was one of the right ones. She would try it, for Bellamy. She didn’t want to loose him. She couldn’t lose him, not like she had lost so many other people. 

“Okay,” she replied, reaching across Murphy and taking Bellamy’s hand, squeezing lightly. “We can try it, if you want. I’ll try most anything once.” With that she got to her feet, leaving the room through the trapdoor. Popping her head back in she said, “You should talk to him when he wakes up. I’ll be back in a little while with some more water.” Then she was gone, and Bellamy was left with his own messy thoughts and the sound of Murphy’s somewhat laboured breathing. 

She had said she’d try. She hadn’t left. He didn’t lose her. He hoped Murphy would agree too. Three was more complicated than two, but he had seen it work. it had to work. He needed them both, and he thought that they needed each other, too. 

Murphy needed someone like Clarke, and Clarke liked having someone like Murphy around. it would work...he hoped.

\------------------------

A week and a half passed easily by after that. No grounder attacks. No more deaths. Murphy had agreed, looked a little excited even, and he was slowly getting better. He was still quiet and didn’t talk about what had happened in the past, but he was trying very hard and Clarke was trying as well. They had even become close, in a sense, though none of them had talked about the arrangements that Bellamy had suggested, not since they had been suggested anyway. 

Murphy wasn’t allowed to leave the medical room even a week after his sickness, which still lingered. He was tired. He was shaky. Clarke wouldn’t let him out into the workforce again until he was at least as strong as the younger delinquents. For all she knew, he was one of them...she knew nothing about him, not really. The most personal information she had was what he had babbled in his fever, and that was hard to piece together into a back story for a whole human life. 

She decided to ask him about it as she checked for fever, dapping cool water over his face, trying to keep him clean even though the dust stuck to his sweaty cheeks and forehead as if he attacked the stuff. His hair was oily, but his eyes were brighter than they had been in a while. 

“How old are you?” she asked as she unbuttoned his shirt, pressing her ear to his chest to see if his heart beat was a regular as it should be. Damn, the advanced medical supplies of the Arc would be helpful right then. They always would be. 

“I’m 16,” he replied, his voice rasping. He had grown used to Clarke being more gentle with him, and even the closeness of the moment didn’t bother him any more. He tentatively pet her hair as her breath tickled his chest. He hadn’t touched her...ever. It felt strange, though not altogether wrong or awkward. It was like something that everyone had known would happen. “H-How old are you?” 

Clarke pulled gently away, sitting up and smiling as she noted that his heart was beating regularly and that his skin wasn’t too warm. She looked him over. He had an open kind of face, though she knew he had a lot of secrets that neither she nor Bellamy knew about. He looked younger when he was relatively clean, no blood spattering his skin. He looked almost sweet. She could almost forget the things he had done...the things he had been through. 

“17,” she smiled, “I am about 17 and a half now.” She scooted next to him, leaning against the wall, letting herself hold his hand. His nails were grown back, but his fingers still looked mangled. She could feel scars on his palms, and as she ran her thumb over the top of his hand she could feel scars and nicks there too. The grounders had spared no kindness for him. 

There was a heavy silence in the room then, broken when the door in the floor was pushed open and Bellamy poked his head through, a smile spreading across his face when he was the two sitting together. 

“I see you two are getting cozy, mind if I join?” he asked, sitting down on Murphy’s other side and leaning heavily against the wall, letting a sigh escape his lips. “It’s raining outside now, and every one is in their tents,” he explained, nodding at the now closed trap door. “We won’t be interrupted, if you guys want to get to know each other, or take a nap, or something,” he said, a smile spreading across his face as he noticed Clarke’s fingers intertwined with Murphy’s. 

“Uh, no, no we know each other, all right,” both said at the same time, blushing a little. It was cute, Bellamy thought, chuckling. 

“Okay, then. You won’t mind if I sleep then,” he said, laying down next to Murphy, wrapping his arm around the boy’s thin frame and letting his hand join the handy party on the other side of Murphy’s body. 

Murphy smiled, laying back as well and letting his eyes fall shut. He didn’t deserve one person who loved him, let alone two. He didn’t deserve anything he had, or had once gotten. He didn’t deserve to be tortured, first by his father’s death, then his mother’s words, then by the other criminals and then the grounders and back to the other delinquents again. Then again, he didn’t deserve such a good father as the one he once had, and he didn’t deserve forgiveness, or Bellamy, or Clarke...but those were all things he had and for that he was grateful. He was infinitely grateful. Maybe a balance could be struck between the bad things he had done and what the other two had done, and the good things they might do together. Between all the tears he had and would cry and then the smiles the the other two brought to his now healed lips. 

Clarke wasn’t tired, but she was happy too. She was happy to sit beside Murphy and Bellamy and watch them in their peace. They looked sweet and soft and young, and kind. Everyone was kind in their sleep. 

She was lucky. So very lucky. 

\------------------------------

 

They grew closer as Murphy got better and Clarke let him work again. He would some times plant tentative kisses on Clark’s lips, holding Bellamy’s hand. Clarke would kiss him back, before kissing Bellamy harder. Bellamy would let them have their way with him, would let them kiss away the worry in his face and hold his hands when this went bad and he tried his damnest to be there for both of them as well. 

Sometimes at night they would talk to each other in the one tent they now shared. Sometimes they would talk about their lives before...before the the ground, and before jail, and before crimes. Sometimes Murphy would let them in a little more, and drop some fact about himself before the ground. Sometimes Clarke would talk about her family, or Bellamy would talk about being a guard cadet. 

Some nights Murphy would wake screaming, crying, shaking. A nightmare of times past haunting him, causing him to fight back as loving hands tried to restrain his flailing limbs. Sometimes he would tell them about it, and sometimes he would just sit in Bellamy’s arms and let Clarke sing her song until he stopped shaking and fell back to sleep to dream of better things. In the morning they would promise that he would never be taken back there. They would promise he was gonna be okay. They would promise that they forgave him. 

Some days Bellamy would be gone hunting or helping in the further parts of the camp walls. He would come back to their tent at the end of the day and have two people waiting to ask him how his day was, and tell him all the bits of news he had missed. Sometimes they would kiss in the dark. Sometimes they would just sleep, his long arms holding them both. 

Some nights Clarke would be up with a patient, sleep evading her or not an option. They left notes for her, telling her she was doing okay. They helped her cool down in the evenings and helped her wake up in the morning.

Most of all, they all leaned on and supported each other. Support was something you needed on the ground. 

\----------------------

The candle burns slowly inside their tent. It’s late, and the dark is closing in around them. The stars don’t shine through the clouds, but the moon has managed to break through and can be seen through the roof of their tent. 

“Love you,” Clarke mumbles sleepily as she blows out the flickering flame, laying down next to Murphy on the mat that had been made into a bed-A victim of circumstance, Clarke said. The mat never asked to be treated like a bed. 

Bellamy was still sitting up, but he smiled, looking down at the other two, letting their faces clear the worry and doubt from his mind. 

“Love you,” he replied, running his hand through his hair, and kissing both on the forehead before falling back into his own head. There were plans to make for the day to come. 

“Love you,” Murphy mumbled, already half asleep. He reached blindly for Bellamy’s hand and then for Clarke’s, acting as an adaptor between them. He was asleep before he could see them smiling down at him. He would have liked it if he had, but he knew anyway. 

“Good night.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please review! I would love to hear your thoughts on this, and any ideas you have about it. I don't bite! Also, I take prompts sometimes ^^ My The 100 tumblr is Murdurphy.tumblr.com ^^


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